Into the Dark
by Dark and Twisted Contest
Summary: She is bleak and somber, he is bright and carefree. Can they find a path toward clarity and a future together, or will they follow each other into the dark?


**_Contest entry for the 'A Journey into the Dark & Twisted' Contest_**

_**Title:**__ Into the Dark_

_**Prompts used:**__ Group A-pic #7 and Group D-pic #4_

_**Pairing:**__ Isabella Swan_

_**Rating:**__ M for story content_

_**Word Count:**__ 6,257_

_**Summary:**__ She is bleak and somber, he is bright and carefree. Can they find a path toward clarity and a future together, or will they follow each other into the dark?_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight._

* * *

"One more please, Bella."

I turn sideway, blowing out in exasperation, wishing the day would end.

"Yes, just like that. I think this is it," he announces, snapping away.

He signals me over to look at what he's taken so far, and I have to agree, the last shot is fantastic. I actually look beautiful. The photographer shakes my hand, thanking me for my professionalism. As I'm leaving the loft, the reporter reminds me that the article will be in the Forks Times newspaper in two weeks, along with one of the photos I've posed for.

I wave goodbye as I swallow my trepidation and exit the building.

_Whew, I'm glad that's over._

I shield my face from the sun with my hand and look around for our trusty Volvo. A horn honks, drawing my attention to the sound. He's casually leaning against the driver's side of the car looking ever so handsome. I take a moment to remind myself that he is mine, and I am his. There's a genuine smile spread across his face that puts a similar one on mine, as my gaze drifts from his feet up to his eyes. He walks in front of the car, then mock bows while opening the passenger door.

I amble my way over to him. He smells like sunshine and happiness as he pulls me toward him, kissing my forehead.

"How are the loves of my life?" He asks, running a hand over my protruding stomach.

I blow out a breath, but squeeze him tighter. "Tired, but we'll live."

He chuckles, and it's music to my ears. "Let's go home." He helps me into the car. "I've made my girls' favorite meal, Daddy's famous spaghetti," he yells, slamming the door.

_I've never met a man so excited to become a father_ I think to myself as I try to get comfortable in the seat.

We're both silent for the rest of the car ride. Driving pass Forks' wooded areas, I look out the window taking in the breathtaking view and recalling our first meeting as well as the carefree attitude he'd filled me with.

_"Class, let's welcome new transfer, Edward Masen," Mr. Banner announces, interrupting my much needed concentration on the quadratic equation I am working on. _

_I hear whispers all around me, but I ignore them because whispers are always buzzing around me._

_It's just a fact in my life._

_"Sit beside Bella, Edward. That's the only available seat."_

_The whispers grow louder. A feminine voice that sounds like Angela Webber's groans, "What the hell!"_

_My ears burn in embarrassment._

_A masculine voice that I can't place mutters, "He better watch out for the Lady Swan."_

_I'm mortified, even though these comments are typical for me to hear. But, for some reason, I don't want whoever this Edward is to hear their disgusting words. Without second guessing myself or questioning my motives, I whip my head in the direction of the last, voiced statement. I guess the look in my eyes help him consider shutting up because he burrows his head in his book after that._

_I hear the seat scrap on the floor. Plop._

_I quickly hide behind the curtain of my hair, trying to focus on the numbers in front of me once again._

_Squeak._

_The chairs at Forks High are older than Medusa I think to myself after hearing the familiar sound. All the while I pray that he's not going to speak to me. I peep at him through my hiding place of my hair._

_"Hi," he whispers, leaning toward me with a hand stretched out. "I'm Edward."_

_His scent invades my nostrils, and when I turn to face him, his smile is so big that it startles me._

_I ignore his hand, responding with, "Bella."_

_Quickly, I turn to look out the window because I find myself hyperventilating over his sweet smell. Class drags on, but I make sure to either keep my face forward or in the book, despite feeling Edward's glances in my direction. The more I feel his eyes on me, the more I become aware of an unrecognizable feeling in the pit of my stomach … making me queasy and heady all at the same time. Even before the bell rings, signaling the end of Advanced Calculus, I start packing up my stuff as discreetly as I can. As soon as I hear it, I'm out of my seat with lightning speed, walking toward the cafeteria._

_Not that I'm ravenously hungry to taste our school's Mystery Monday meal choice, but I need a minute to dissect my reaction to Edward, a boy I don't even know. I grab the safest thing on the menu and head to the most un-populated corner in the cafeteria._

_Book in hand, head down, and trying to swallow some juice, I hear the clank of a tray on the table. I'm not up for any of the usual ridicule that the student body of Forks High regularly regales me with, and I deliver my normal line: "Fuck off."_

_"Yeah …" I hear the amusement in his voice._

_I lower my tattered copy of Hamlet and hope that my ears are deceiving me._

_"Edward?" I ask rather dumbly, looking into his face._

_"In the flesh," he replies, sitting down in front of me._

_Confusedly, I look around, seeing all the other empty tables … the better seat options he could have chosen._

_"What … um, I don't understand."_

_He takes a bite of his sandwich, grimaces as he swallows and quickly takes a sip from his drink._

_"Why didn't you warn me?" He smiles, blinding me with his perfect teeth. "That was just nasty!" He shakes his body in disgust._

_I can't have a conversation about food quality when I'm still stuck on having my first ever, lunch partner. After a while, he registers my continued questioning stare._

_"I'm sorry. Was someone sitting here?" He looks around the cafeteria._

_"No," I reply internally wincing at my cracked voice. I swallow a little and hope that my next words will be clearer. "No, it's just that …" I look around, and all eyes are on our table._

_His eyes follow mine. When he looks back at me again, he doesn't seem concerned._

_"Fuck 'em. Let 'em look, right?" He smiles mischievously, swallowing some more of his drink._

_His smile pulls me in, and for the first time, I feel myself agreeing. Yeah! Fuck 'em._

I'm jarred out my reflections when I hear him jiggling the handle on the toilet. Sometimes it gets stuck. Finally, he's able to flush the toilet, and then I hear the sound of running water.

"Damn!" he groans, coming out of the bathroom, "Babe, you have to remind me to go to Home Depot to get a new handle. I keep forgetting."

As he walks toward me, while I lay on the bed, I look at my man … his impressive physique, his sexy lips, those gorgeous eyes and that head of hair that sometimes leaves _me_ baffled. Most times, I can't believe he uttered, _'Fuck 'em, let 'em look, right?'_ close to three years ago.

Edward insisted on getting married quickly, even as I tried to beg him to wait. He wore me down and pulled out a 'yes' during a night of passionate love making. Soon after, he convinced me to start our family. Again, I laid out all the reasons why I shouldn't be a mother. This time, he changed my 'no' into a 'yes' by fucking my brains out.

The bed dips with his weight and he fits his body around mine. His hand draws lazy patterns on my stomach.

"You know I love you, right?"

"Uh huh."

"Good." He loudly kisses the back of my head. "Wherever you go, I go."

"Would you follow me to Antarctica?"

"It's cold, but I know you'd keep me warm; so yes."

My eyes light up with mirth at his statement. This is a game we play often. We both know the questions I'll ask as well as the answers he always gives.

"What about the moon?"

"Definitely." One of his hand trails over my hip. "You'd rock that spacesuit like it was Fredericks of Hollywood's hottest lingerie." He returns to drawing patterns on my stomach.

Leave it to him to think I'd look good in a bulbous outfit with a tinted helmet. I decide to ask him a question I've never asked, but have always wondered about.

"What if I move to Farlandia?"

His hand stops its pattern making. He laughs a deep laugh that makes my insides feel warm and fuzzy. "Where the hell is Farlandia?"

I move further into the cocoon of his arms. "Silly, everyone knows that Farlandia is south of here, but north of there," I reply, trying my best not to laugh.

"Ah. Well, then, yes, I'll be with my girl in Farlandia."

His arms tighten around me, making me feel protected and loved.

"What if I go to hell?" I reply sleepily.

I hear his loud yawn and feel him snuggle closer to me. "Babe, I'll follow you into the dark."

_The dark?_

_That_ is definitely a new answer in our age-old question and answer game. My eyes pop open at his statement.

No way would I let him follow me to some place he doesn't belong.

He's nothing like me.

I'm the dark.

He's _my_ light.

Fear squeezes my heart and my pulse begins to race. My tired eyes stay open all night even as his easy breathing changes to light snores

**Three weeks later …**

"This is good, babes." Edward's voice is muffled behind the newspaper in his hands, and the hot scrambled eggs he's stuffing down his throat.

"Put the newspaper down," I beg, flicking the paper. "It's old news."

"Not old news," he disagrees blindly reaching for his cup of coffee. "Good stuff and you look hot … sexy, you know?"

_That's Edward. Mr. Flatterer. He's good for my ego even if his eyesight is shitty._

"Edward," I growl, pushing away from the table, "That article is a week old."

"Who cares? It has my baby in it … both my babies actually," he says, moving the newspaper to the side revealing his cheeky grin.

"Whatever. I'm going to work."

"Not before you kiss your man," he says.

He moves so fast that his image looks blurred. I'm hauled into a tight embrace that I try to wiggle out from. He laughs at my attempt, holding me tighter, which makes me laugh. I stand on my tip toes to kiss him as he lightly pats my butt.

"I'll see later."

"I love you," he says, sitting down.

I wave, slamming the door closed.

_When Edward and I first got together, I use to pinch myself to convince my eyes of the reality of what my heart felt. Nothing like Edward—including everything that's transpired since meeting him—should happen to a girl like me. It's not that I have esteem issues, far from that. It's just … well … around Forks, it's just best to stay away from people with the last name Swan. But, Edward, he … he came in like a speeding bullet, showing me that I am loveable and that I could love correctly … purely._

_And I do._

_I love my Edward._

_He is, after all, my savior. His love redeems me._

_It proves to everyone in Forks that I'm not like them._

_He was the one that made me consider doing the article a week ago. He said it would give the people of Forks a glimpse of my good qualities only he sees. I still don't believe people's opinions will change about me, but I honestly don't care about that. As long as Edward continues to be my light … my love, I know that I can erase whatever darkness that has plagued my name for the last sixty years._

The blast of Forks' unseasonably, hundred-degree weather hits my face forcing my inner thoughts to an end. I take the last step to go outside, and I bemoan the summer season. I hate summer! More than that, I hate being pregnant in the summer so much more. As soon as my skin comes in contact with the heated atmosphere outside, I regret that I work on Saturdays. I've worked at Forks Public Library for about a year now. Esme Cullen was the only person that would take a chance to offer me a job, even after all these years.

_Fuck my life_ I think, sprinting to my car as quickly as my almost sixth-month pregnant body would allow me to.

The only good thing about Saturdays is the predictability of the day. Every Saturday, at 10 A.M., Jane Volturi, Forks' oldest resident, hobbles her way into the library and spends an hour ogling whichever eye candy is on the latest issue of _Men's Health._ By 11 A.M., Alice Cullen, Esme's flighty daughter comes in, usually talking on her cell, which I've told her not to do. She spends an hour on the computer. Once she leaves, I take my lunch at 12:15 P.M. An hour later, I check-in the returned books, put those books back on their specific shelves, and finish any other administrative duties. Usually, by 2 P.M., I'm twiddling my thumbs, waiting for the end of the day at 3 P.M. Then, I head home where Edward rubs my feet as we share stories about our day.

I get to the library in less than five minutes since Forks is not that big. I breathe a sigh of relief as the cool air from the air conditioner washes over me as well as the sense of security I always feel inside the old building.

The day speeds along quickly. As I'm checking in a book, I hear the front door open. Not expecting anyone, my head pops up as someone walks toward me. He's dressed impeccably, albeit a little too warmly in his all black outfit. I put a smile on my face as I see his easy one.

"Welcome to Forks Public Library," I tell the stranger.

"Thank you, kindly, ma'am." He tips his head forward, touching the brim of his hat.

His accent is unfamiliar as is his face. I glance at the time over the stranger's head, and the wall clock reads 1:30 P.M.

He looks intently at me, and I squirm internally at his direct stare. Usually, I don't notice men, especially since meeting Edward, but there's something about this man. His handsomeness is disarming, his accent almost lulls me to sleep, but his eyes are a beauty to behold. The color of his eyes reminds me of fresh honey and caramelized apple tarts. Edward loves honey, tarts, and basically _anything_ in the amber-colored family. My thought of Edward lowers the anxiety I'm feeling in this stranger's presence.

"Can I help you with something?" I ask since it didn't look as if he planned on talking.

"Um, sure." He tugs at his shirt collar. "I'm looking for a book."

The accent piques my interest, and I wonder what Southern state he resides in, or was raised in.

"Well, you've come to the right place. We have lots of what you're looking for," I tease, hoping to further decrease my weird reaction to him.

He smiles, revealing dimples. His hat comes off, and I take in his blond, shoulder-length hair that any woman would kill to have.

"I'm looking for _Fatal Vision_ by Joe McGinniss."

"That's a good book," I gush, coming around the desk. "You must be into true crime novels?"

"I guess you can say that." He faces me again and this time I notice that his smile doesn't reach his eyes.

I motion for him to follow me.

"Don't get me wrong, the book was a good read," I inform him, walking toward the adult non-fiction section. "What's not to love about getting into the head of an Ivy League, educated doctor who savagely kills his pregnant wife and their two children, right?"

We walk down the long corridor, and my heels are the only sounds I hear in the building. I briefly wonder why his shoes aren't being heard on the old, hardwood floors, but then I notice he's walking on the carpeted portion of the pathway.

"So, you believed he killed them?"

As we walk side by side, I see he has his cowboy hat on his head again.

"Yes, I do, and that's basically what the author concludes, as well. Initially, the author believed in Dr. Jeffrey MacDonald's innocence. So much so that he thought writing the book would support his belief as well as provide financial means to fund MacDonald's legal battle. But, the more time the author spent with the doctor, the more he was convinced of his guilt," I reply sheepishly, revealing my secret fascination with American murderers.

Only Edward knows about the books I truly like to read. Whenever I pick one up, he teases me that maybe I like them so much because I see myself on the pages. I keep asking him if he thinks I'd be the victim or the victimizer, but he never answers my question, only kisses me softly.

"You seem to know a lot about …" He looks around, lowering his voice as if someone will overhear us. "Murders."

"No, no." I rush to reassure him. "I just read that book, and it captured my attention." I head down the row, looking for the 'M's.

"Well, sometimes it's not wise to believe everything you read. After all, MacDonald sued McGinniss after he wrote his book and the issue was settled out of court."

"Oh, wow. I didn't know that," I admit, bending down to get a copy of _Fatal Vision._

I turn around and am surprised that he's right behind me. My eyes silently plead with him to back up, which he does, after a second or two, with a look of chagrin on his face. I hand him the copy of the book, and he walks in front of me out of the narrow aisle. He steps to the side, allowing me to go before me.

I massage my neck to relieve the tightness that lingers there the longer I'm in this stranger's company.

To fill the dead air, I reveal, "After that, you should read Janet Malcolm's _The Journalist and the Murderer._"

"Why?" His Southern twang is back.

"She basically calls out McGinniss for unprofessional journalism because he befriended MacDonald, assured him he would write a book that would paint his innocence, then basically stabs him in the back," I tell him, turning to face him. "We have a copy if you're interested."

"Sure."

We both begin walking, and I'm glad I can now hear his footsteps on the hardwood floors.

_That will let me know how close he is_ I muse.

"It's just …"

A sharp pain on the back of my head is all I register before everything goes black.

~~~ItD~~~

I feel cool.

My head is buzzing, and my ears are ringing. I try to open my eyes, but I find it difficult to do. Eventually, after much concentration, my eyes slowly open.

There's a single light over my head, illuminating me while everything else is black. I'm seated in a chair at a steel desk, and my hands are tied behind me.

"Hello," I whisper groggily.

Tears pool in my eyes.

There's no response, even after I wait for a minute. Trying again, I say louder, "Hello is someone here?

"So good of you to join us." It sounds as if it's coming through an intercom system overhead.

I don't recognize the voice. My anxiety increases. Beads of sweat form on my forehead. A tear trickle down my cheek.

"Who are you? Please," I whimper, "Let me go." I struggle, uselessly, against the rope around my hands.

I hear a door creak open, and I turn my head at the sound. The footsteps stop somewhere off to my left, I think. All I hear is my ragged breathing.

Another tear trickle down.

The person laughs.

"Oh, are you crying?" Another laugh, this one shakes me to the core with the sinister edge I hear in it.

"What …" I stammer, squirming in the seat, "What do you want with me?"

I hear more footsteps coming toward me. Hands encased in black, leather-looking gloves slide a neatly folded newspaper toward me.

"Read that."

Looking down, I notice it's the article about me that ran in the _Forks Times_ two weeks ago.

_What the hell?_ Now, I'm truly confused.

"You want me—"

"Stop talking, bitch, and read the fucking article!" he yells threateningly.

I swallow thickly and nervously begin. "Lady Swan. We've all heard … um … these dreaded two-word," I pause, sniffing not wanting to read the words on the paper.

The table is kicked and I jump in fear. "Quit your sniffing and stuttering and read it correctly."

Breathing deeply, I start again. "Lady Swan. We've all heard this dreaded two-word label in Forks for the last sixty years. But, today, this interviewer sat down with Bella Swan to prove she is no Lady Swan. She's happily married to Edward Masen, and the lovely couple is expecting a baby in—"

"Stop!" he bellows, walking again, but staying in the shadow. "What's a Lady Swan?"

"I'm not like them. I'm not, I swear," I plead, silently groaning as I feel a sharp pain in my side.

He laughs again. "Darlin', all you fucking Swans are the same. It's in your blood."

"No, I'm not—" I shout.

"Shut up!" He growls. I hear footsteps, and I feel his breath on the back of my hair. "What's a Lady Swan?" he repeats.

"I'm not …"

He bangs on the table. The noise echoes in the dark room. My heartbeat is galloping now, both in reaction to the situation I've found myself in and from the shame I'll feel when I'm forced to reveal how I know the Lady Swans.

Whispering, he demands, "Tell me."

A few tears come out of my eyes as I try to concentrate … to tell him what he wants. "Um, around Forks, they … uh, call my maternal great-grandmother, my maternal grandmother, and my mother the Lady Swans."

I hear footsteps, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I sense him moving away from me.

"And, why would they do that, 'Ms. I'm not like them'?"

"I don't know!" I yell, shaking. "Maybe it's because our last name is Swan."

He chuckles, but I hear no joy in it. "You know people always think swans are beautiful and graceful animals. Fucking idiots," he hisses, chuckling some more. "Let me tell you about swans. They are goddamn vicious … evil fucks. They bite, hit, and are not opposed to drowning another animal. They are fucking predators disguised in a pretty package."

"I'm not—"

"Shut the hell up!" He backhands me across the face.

A strangled sound bubbles up in my throat and I swallow it down, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out in pain.

"Good," he says, breathing harshly. "Your tears are not convincing me that you're nothing like the other Lady Swans."

The hate in is voice is as palpable as the air I'm breathing.

I retreat into myself, a trick I used to do before I'd met Edward. It was something I'd done to shield myself from the rebuking stares directed at me and hateful words said in my presence by the people of Forks.

A hand stretches under the light, again, taking the newspaper away. I turn my head, biting down on my lower lip as another pain hardens my stomach.

"I know all about you and the other Lady Swans. I know all too well. Let me prove it—"

Interrupting him, I beg, "No, please." I exhale as the tears I can't seem to control drips from my face onto my clothing. "I'm not like them, please," I shake my head, hoping he could see that I'm good … that I can be good.

_If only he could see me with Edward. See how Edward's pure love stomps out whatever hatred runs in my veins, because of my connection to the Lady Swans._

He doesn't acknowledge what I've said.

He begins his monologue, "the year was 1953, and if I'm not mistaken before your great-grandmother, Anna's twentieth birthday. It's said she unexpectedly returned to the home she shared with her seven-month old daughter, Marie, and her live-in lover, Harry Clearwater. Her daughter was in her crib, unattended, watching television. She heard the signs of lovemaking behind her locked bedroom door. Anna went into the kitchen where she retrieved her 12-gauge shot gun and went back to the bedroom door. It's said she allowed Harry to climax, and as he was shouting in ecstasy, she fired a single shot through the closed door, blowing his head off. Looking through the hole in the door, she motioned with her head for the screaming, naked woman to run, which she did. The police found her an hour later on the front porch drinking moonshine from a re-purposed jar she used as a cup while playing with her daughter."

I swallow the bile in my throat.

_But I'm not—_

He interrupts my internal thoughts with: "And you are claiming no relation to that evil bitch?"

I hear the scrape of something on the wall.

I bite my lip again in concentration; trying to think of what to say that could prove I'm me … that I'm different.

I'm no Lady Swan because their love scares the hell out of me. But, with Edward's pure love on my side … in my heart, I'll never become a Lady Swan.

"Nothing to say?" I hear his steps coming toward me again. "Well how about this one? The year was 1973, two months before _your_ grandmother, Marie's twentieth birthday. One newspaper I read said she suspected the father of her daughter, Renee, of cheating. The article went on to say that her lover, Billy Black, was at Forks' only drive-in movie theater watching _Psycho_ with a mystery woman." I hear the breath he loudly exhales. "Apparently, she saw the two fucking in his car … whatever. The article said poor Billy left his car for some reason and never made it back. _Your_ nutty grandmother stabbed the fucker and then came back to his car, wiped his blood onto her clothes, which scared the shit out of the woman in the car, who ran away like hell. She didn't even have the decency to leave the scene of the crime. The cops found her on Billy's hood watching the rest of the movie."

_What can I say that could explain away their devious acts?_

The door opens again, and I hear another set of footsteps enter the room.

"I'll take it from here, Love."

This voice is as unrecognizable as the other, with the exception of their heavy Southern accents.

The voice begins: "1993, Quil Ateara Sr. moved from Texas to Forks meeting your mother, Renee …" I hang my head in shame because this story I know.

After all, Quil was _my_ father.

I know it like the back of my hand, better than the stories of Anna Swan and Marie Swan. I don't need him to finish it; because all on their own, my lips begin to form the next words that continue to haunt me: "Quil transferred to Forks because of his parent's divorce. He'd told my mother how they could comfort each other since she was without a family and he missed his only brother who lived with his father back in Texas. People warned my father against dating my mother, but he ignored them. In an article, one reporter said she'd found proof that Quil was cheating, although that proof was never released or printed." I breathe deeply through my nose as the weight of what my mother did sinks into my consciousness more so than ever before.

_I guess my mother believed he was cheating._

"One day, my father requested his favorite beer as he watched his favorite show. She'd already made his favorite meal, and he'd belched appreciatively. When he'd finished his last sip, his head drooped forward. She dragged him to their bedroom while I slept in my crib in the same room."

Guilt washes over me as I think about admitting the next heinous acts my mother committed against the man she _claimed_ to have loved … the man she bore a child with.

"She cut off his penis, but waited for him to awaken from his drug-induced sleep before dropping his appendage into a blender to puree it. An article mentions that my father must have writhed in pain because of the amount of smeared blood that was under him as he was hog-tied on their bed. Then, she carved the words Lady Swan all over his body with the knife he'd given to her for her nineteenth birthday. He bled to death, soaking her mattress. Five hours later, she called the police, telling them to come get her."

"You were trying to tell us how _you're_ no Lady Swan?" asks the person that I assume is in front of me.

I whimper in desperation.

My throat is parched.

The bright light is unforgiving and hot, much too hot.

"I'm not—"

"Aren't you pregnant?" both voices ask simultaneously.

"Yes, but—"

"Aren't you two months from celebrating your twentieth birthday?" This voice sounds like the first voice, the one that had me read the article.

I'm not quite sure how he knows this, but I quickly rush to reassure him, "Yes, but—"

"Aren't you having a girl?" one of them inquires.

Their voices are melding together, and it's hard for me to distinguish one from the other.

"I … we … no." I shake my head. "I'm not," I insist, hoping the tell-tale catch in my voice wouldn't alert them of my lie.

"Bella …" a voice trails almost with disappointment lacing in his voice.

The light overhead swings forward.

"Edward?" Shock rings through my voice.

_Why is he now speaking with a Southern accent?_

"In the flesh," he chuckles.

Those are the exact three words he uttered to me, many years ago when he'd approached the lunch table.

Tears sting my eyes afresh.

Backward and forward, the light continues to swing, almost mocking me as it shows his face.

I'm staring at the face I'd recently held and caressed.

I see the lips that kissed me tenderly hours before.

But, the eyes … the eyes look so much different.

I've never seen them look at me in such a manner.

Contempt.

Hatred.

Disgust.

They all shout at me from his gaze as if he's speaking the words with his mouth.

I hear footsteps coming toward me, but I don't pay any attention to them. Even as my hands are untied, my brain doesn't _truly_ register it. I'm too confounded that I'm looking into the eyes of the man I love.

"Meet Jasper." Edward's voice is as smooth as the honey he likes so much.

"I'm so glad to be meeting you, darlin'," he whispers near my ear, pushing my hair behind it.

"Your mother killed his father's brother … his only brother," Edward informs me in disgust.

"That makes us cousins, Bella," he says derisively. His voice is so low, that had he not been by my ear I wouldn't have heard him.

My eyes are locked onto Edward's.

"He's also my lover," Edward reveals, blowing an air kiss toward Jasper.

I grimace.

_I'm such an idiot _I mentally fume._ I don't know why I thought I'd be different! If none of the other Swans were able to keep their men, I have no clue why I deluded myself into thinking I was special … that I was different._

My head instantly begins pounding. I turn my head to the side as the pain, both in my heart and stomach, lances through me, crippling me.

I feel Jasper's tongue as he licks the side of my face.

"You know what my pops did when he heard about Quil?" he asks menacingly.

I shake my head mutely. Too afraid to speak and too shell-shocked by what is going on.

"He killed my mother and himself. You see, he couldn't continue living without his only brother. But, sweet, cousin of mine …" I feel his grin on my cheek. He moves closer to my ear again, whispering, "He spared my life only so that I could kill you."

"Bella …" Edward trails.

I continue looking away.

Fear and pain.

Confusion and hurt.

Disappointment and anger.

I feel them all … simultaneously … no one feeling outweighs the other. I'm a mass of emotions that make my heart feel as if it's about to burst from my chest cavity.

"Bella," Edward commands almost tenderly; like my Edward.

I turn my face toward his. The one that made me fall in love with him and made me love myself.

"You know you want to kill me," he says softly and matter-of-factly.

"No … no," I stutter.

And even to my ears I can hear the lie.

"Yes, you do. Come on. Do it." He leans closer to me, exposing his neck.

"Think about it," Jasper cajoles in my ear. "He's just like all the other men in your family's life." He points at Edward. "There he is; the father of _your_ child, who was cheating on you_ all_ this time. And here you thought you weren't a Lady Swan." He laughs, patting my shoulder.

Panic grips me.

Pain radiates in my stomach and my breathing becomes erratic.

I feel myself sweating as my blood begins to boil, imaging _them_ doing all they did behind my back.

Laughing.

Whispering.

Calling me names.

When all I did was love Edward. And apparently, he's chosen to fuck me over, royally.

The realization that my hands are free hits me just as Edward's face looms closer to where I am. And, in a flash, as if I'm having an outer body experience, I see my fingers close around his throat.

_Take that, motherfucker!_ I think as I see his neck gradually change from its creamy color to red.

Now you feel how I feel.

Hollow.

Out of breath.

Dying.

_Were all these years a lie? Was anything between us real?_

I look into his eyes that are still looking at me and silently ask him: _Was anything you ever said to me the truth?_

Did he ever love me?

His words, "How are the loves of my life?", come back like a flash. And, I squeeze some more, adding pressure. I'm not sure I'm doing it right, but I can't stop … something inside me begs me to continue.

His eyes water and now the color of his face match that of his neck.

Jasper's maniacal laughter is the only sound I hear.

Edward doesn't whimper … doesn't plead for his life. It's almost as though he wants me to kill him … like he wants to die.

_But, that can't be._

I can't bring him to _my_ darkness!

My hands drop from his neck instantly. He stumbles backward, rubbing his neck as air tries to get back into his lungs.

Jasper chuckles as I hear him slap something hard in his palm.

I look down at my hands both in awe _and_ shame. They were just around Edward's neck ... and, not in the loving manner they've grown accustomed to.

"So, you are …" He coughs, "no Lady Swan?" Edward stutters. His words are breathy and raspy.

I plop down, broken and ashamed, into the chair.

"Only one thing could prove that you're no Lady Swan, cousin," Jasper breathes into my ear.

I don't acknowledge him as I try to concentrate on slowing down my heart rate.

I hate to admit it, but there was a sense of rush … a peaceful feeling that overtook me as I watched Edward's eyes bulge as my hands were wrapped around his neck.

_I liked it._

I liked the look of pain in his eyes as I thought about the pain he's caused me.

_I liked it a lot._

A yellow box that reads Glad® Cling Wrap is pushed near my arm on the table. I look down at it with a sense of wonderment and surprise.

"You want your words from the article to become the truth … your truth?" Edward asks, capturing my eyes again with his piercing gaze.

Jasper opens the box, and I hear a tearing sound. He holds up my limp right hand and puts a large piece of the clingy material in it.

"Use that. _Be_ the last Lady Swan," Edward commands which border on begging.

I finger the slick, filmy material.

I hold it up toward the light, seeing Edward's image through it.

With my hands on the edges, I bring it closer to my face. He seems pleased with my motion.

I make sure it covers my nose and mouth.

I pull the material backward.

Breathing is difficult but not impossible.

In order to go into the dark, I know what I need to do.

Pull tighter.

Harder.

More forceful.

And I do.

* * *

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